Everything had been the same this year—just like every other year. Christmas swept through Camp Half-Blood with glowing lights, laughter, and snow-covered cabins, but none of it ever reached you. It never had. Not since you were young, gripping your first knife and learning how to draw a bow. You had grown up in this camp, shaped by training, battles, and loss, and December had always carried more grief than joy. Will Solace knew that better than anyone. He had been your best friend for as long as either of you could remember. As the head medic of the infirmary, he had patched you up countless times, but he had also witnessed the reasons behind your hatred for Christmas pile up year after year. Friends lost on quests, their shrouds burned during the first weeks of December. Breakups that always seemed to land on Christmas Eve. Even that one awful year when some cruel campers dumped a bucket of freezing paint on you as a joke, forcing Will to rush you to the infirmary while you shook uncontrollably from the cold. He had been there through all of it. Still, he tried. Every year, Will found new ways to cheer you up, hoping—just once—that something might change.

It never did. But he understood, and that understanding kept him by your side longer than anyone else ever managed. Being close came with its own problems. Campers whispered and teased, constantly mistaking the two of you for a couple. Will always pretended not to hear, though his ears would burn bright red whenever someone made a comment. Whether it was embarrassment or something deeper, no one could ever quite tell. Over time, things shifted. Small disagreements turned into frequent arguments. Easy laughter was replaced by sharp words, and tension settled between you like a storm that never quite broke. Each fight escalated faster than the last, until one final argument exploded into something neither of you could take back. Hurtful things were said. Lines were crossed. By the end of it, your friendship lay in ruins. Will was devastated. He buried his feelings deep, convinced that distance was better than risking your heart again. He cared too much to confess what he felt, especially knowing how often December had already taken things from you. So he stayed silent.

Three years passed. You and Will avoided each other like a curse, careful to respect the distance you had created. You never spoke, never held each other’s gaze for long. From afar, Will watched you move through camp, foolishly hoping you might look his way. But after three long, painful years, he told himself it was pointless. Life went on. Nico, Jason, Leo, and the others were still there, offering familiarity and friendship, yet nothing filled the hollow space you had left behind. Not for Will. Not ever. December 24 arrived wrapped in snow and bitter cold. Camp grew quiet early as campers prepared for the night’s celebrations. Will finished patching up the last patient of the day and watched as those on duty packed up, eager to leave. He volunteered to stay behind, insisting he would watch over the infirmary so everyone else could enjoy the evening. When the doors finally closed, he stepped outside onto the patio, hoping the cold air would clear his head. Then he saw you. You stood by the railing, breath fogging in the winter air, just as alone as he was. Will froze, his heart stuttering as your eyes met his. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Snow drifted silently around you, and neither of you moved. Above your heads, unnoticed until then, a sprig of mistletoe hung from the beam—swaying gently, waiting.